


This Blue Lawn

by missroserose



Series: Stories of Sweet Summer Billy [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Literature Analysis, M/M, Relationship Discussions, Soft Billy Hargrove, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missroserose/pseuds/missroserose
Summary: Billy teaches Steve a thing or two about love.





	This Blue Lawn

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, I'm not usually a big one for Soft!Billy, but [kelpie-earnest](http://kelpie-earnest.tumblr.com) did [this amazing sketch](https://billyandsteve.tumblr.com/post/180070711977/kelpie-earnest-lmao-using-dacre-as-billy-ref) of a sweeter and more innocent-looking Billy, and then [billyandsteve](https://billyandsteve.tumblr.com) added their headcanon, and this version of Billy felt so vibrantly alive to me that I decided to see what he had to say.

“Harrington? Hey, Harrington! Don’t make me start singing Elvis again.”

Steve blinks, brings his focus back to Billy Hargrove, seated next to him at his desk and waving a hand about an inch in front of his face. “Sorry. I sort of spaced out there for a second.”

“Themes and symbolism in _The Great Gatsby_.” Billy raps the blank pad of paper with a pen, the solid metal barrel (that Steve is almost certain came from his father’s study) making a sturdy _thwack_ with each hit. “Or, to put it in layman’s terms, _what is this story about_?”

Steve shrugs, a little sullen, as much from the sensation of feeling stupid as from being caught daydreaming. “I don’t know, man. A bunch of rich assholes who get together and party?”

“Are we talking about the story, or about your life?” 

Steve tries his most charming smile. “Is there really any difference?”

Sometimes the smile works, but not this time. Arms crossed, Billy asks, “Did you even finish the book?”

“I did.”

Billy raises one eyebrow. Steve wonders how he does that. Wonders, idly, if he pencils in his brows the way he’s seen blonde girls do. “The whole thing?”

Steve starts to answer, then finds himself caught in that bright blue gaze, so guileless and earnest…he drops his eyes, maybe coughs a little. “I…might’ve skimmed the last couple of chapters.”

“Ooookay. Let’s work backwards. What does the green light symbolize?” At Steve’s confused look, Billy gestures to the book. “Last page, third paragraph from the end. Read it aloud.”

Steve sighs and flips to the end of his dog-eared paperback. “ _And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields—_ “ Steve feels his heart pounding, his throat closing up, and he tosses the book aside, giving a sharp jerk of his head as counterpoint. “It’s bullshit.”

To Steve’s surprise, Billy’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “Tell me why.”

“First off, nobody talks like that, okay? Maybe they did in nineteen-twenty-something, but not anymore. Second, Daisy’s a bitch. She strung Gatsby along and told him she loved him and all the while she was never going to leave her asshole husband who cheats on her. Third, Gatsby’s an idiot. He thinks Daisy’s this beautiful innocent girl who only ever loved him, when in fact their whole relationship was based on fantasies and lies and _bullshit_.” Steve’s pulse is loud in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out his voice. “And Gatsby ends up dead, a punishment for the awful, horrible crime of _wanting something_. A nice life. A girl who loves him. The future he’d thought about for so long. What’s so wrong about any of that?”

Somewhere during Steve’s rant, Billy’s lit up a cigarette—without asking, of course—and in the silence following, he takes a drag, eyeing Steve thoughtfully. Steve realizes his cheeks are hot, from anger or embarrassment or simply being the object of that intense focus.

“It’s a start,” Billy finally says.

“What’s a start?” 

Billy gestures with his cigarette. “You’ve got the basics down fine. You’re examining the motives of the characters. You’re questioning the moral justification of the author’s choices.” A thoughtful pull. “I always suspected you were smart.”

Steve blinks; he’s been called many things in his life, but “smart” has never been one of them. “There’s a big difference between a two-minute rant and a whole paper.”

“Then let’s flesh it out.” Billy finishes the cigarette, stubs it out in the lid of the pencil tin Steve’s mom brought back from Italy or something. “You’re angry that Gatsby was shot?”

 _Left floating dead in his pool_. Steve swallows, willing his throat not to close up at the image, his breath to stay even. “Yeah. I mean, what’s so wrong about loving somebody?”

“Ah. But did he love her? Or did he love the future he saw with her?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it. Hears Nancy’s drunken voice slurring in his ears. Feels the sinking sensation that they suddenly have very different views of their future together. “Is there a difference?”

To his surprise, Billy doesn’t answer right away. He leans back in his chair, as if assessing Steve, before lighting another cigarette. “You’ve met my mother, Harrington.”  
“Uh…yeah?” Steve blinks, nonplussed, vague images of a strangely young-seeming woman in flowing flowered prints cropping up in his head. “She seemed nice.”

Billy smiles, almost wistful. “Yeah, she is. She’s also not right in the head.”

The sheer frankness astounds Steve. Sure, there’ve been rumors. Barbed whispers behind locker doors, as there always are about newcomers. But Steve holds himself above rumor. Always has, even—especially—when it turned on him. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, man.”

Billy waves away his words with a graceful swirl of cigarette smoke. “It’s fine. Thing is, she wasn’t born like this. She used to be this incredible woman. Smart and determined and fierce. My dad made the mistake of hitting her once, and she took me and left. Never went back, even though we were broke as shit for years until she got her career started.” Billy shakes his head, though Steve can’t tell if it’s in admiration or sorrow. “We lived like that for more than a decade, and I asked her once why she didn’t date and she said ‘Billy boy, there’ll be time for that when you’re in college.’ She never even questioned whether I’d go. And then, a few days after my fourteenth birthday, her car is hit by a semi.”

“Holy shit,” Steve says, unsure if it’s an exclamation or a prayer.

“She’s in a coma, the doctors say she might not wake up. I get sent to live with my father.” Billy takes a pull, but his face is twisted with contempt, and Steve feels for a moment that he’s looking at a very different Billy than the carefree, easygoing one he knows. “All I’ll say about that bastard is, eleven years and marriage hadn’t changed him one whit. I kept telling myself it was only temporary, but then my mom woke up and Neil—my father—refused to let me see her. Told me she wasn’t fit to be a parent, that he was stuck with me and I should be grateful. Right before beating the shit out of me.”

Steve winces, suddenly grateful for his own father, strained relationship or no. “What happened?”

“I petitioned for emancipation. One of my mom’s coworkers helped me with the paperwork, a school friend gave me rides. Snuck out of the house to make my court appointment. Showed up before the judge with a black eye and a plan to take care of my mother—and she was impressed enough that she granted the petition. So I moved us here. Mom has family nearby to help, and it’s cheaper than California, we can live off the settlement payments. I take care of her day to day. And I pull in extra cash tutoring pretty boys like you.”

Billy punctuates that last with a gentle bop of a finger on Steve’s nose, which is when Steve realizes how closely he’d been leaning in. He pulls back, feeling his skin flush again. “Sorry,” he mutters, though he’s not sure whether he’s apologizing for invading Billy’s space, or for needing tutoring, or for Billy’s awful life history.

“It’s cool. I’m telling you this because I want you to know about love. It’s so easy to love an idea. To have a script, a whole future envisioned. What happens when that script is suddenly gone and you’re left adrift? Do you keep loving the person? Do you do everything you can to make them happy, even if it’s not how you envisioned? Or do you give up and sit around feeling sorry for yourself?”

Steve shifts a little in his seat. Thinks about his parents, their disappointed glances whenever they see his lackluster grades. Remembers his father’s sigh when Steve told him he wasn’t interested in going into business. “I guess I’ve never really known that kind of love.”

“Well, you’re young,” Billy says with a wink. “Plenty of fish in the sea.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://missroserose.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/missroserose), both.


End file.
